


In Principio

by NorroenDyrd



Series: Amabilis Insania [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Andrastianism, Dalish Elves, Dialogue Heavy, Dragon Age Quest: In Hushed Whispers, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, First Meetings, Gen, Hate to Love, Light Angst, Love at First Sight, Venatori, War Table (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8443519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: Two future unlikely lovers' first thoughts about each other.





	

'What are you going to do with her, Father?' Felix asks quietly, while fidgeting on the edge of his bed: he is evidently uncomfortable about occupying the living quarters that rightfully belong to the local arl. 'With the Herald?'  
  
At first, Alexius leaves his son's question unheeded, too preoccupied by mixing solvents and powders at the makeshift alchemy station he has set up on a small bedside table (which, like everything else in this, uh, rustic southern castle, naturally has to be carved in the shape of a leering, bulgy-eyed dog). But then, Felix addresses him again, louder this time, with a note of urgency in his voice that makes him impossible to ignore,  
  
'What are you going to do with her? I think I know, but I need to hear it from you'.  
  
Slowly, his movements stiff and mechanical as a heavy silence hangs between him and Felix, the older Tevinter turns away from the messy, potion-splattered dog table, and hands his son a tall glass, filled to the brim with a hissing, bubbling mixture. Only when Felix accepts the glass from him, his eyes never leaving his father's tired, haggard face, does Alexius speak. His voice is husky and curt, and he purses his lips into a tight line, as soon as he is finished uttering his short, categorical response,  
  
'Whatever it takes'.  
  
'That is not a straight answer,' Felix persists, frowning. 'You never deign to give me one...'  
  
He falls silent, his glass still untouched, and then adds sharply,  
  
'You are going to kill her, aren't you? You are going to lure her in here, under the pretext of handing over "your mages"...'  
  
Here, he waggles his fingers to mime quotation marks, his expression filled with distaste.  
  
'...And then, you are going to strike her down. You have laid a trap for her; I am sure of it - now more than ever'.  
  
Alexius shudders and turns away, no longer able to bear his son's accusing gaze.  
  
'I have no choice,' he mouths, returning to his potions.  
  
'There is always a choice,' Felix objects, his grip on the mixture glass tightening.  
  
'Well, if you put it that way, I suppose there is,' Alexius says bitterly, with a small, forced, follow laugh. 'Of course... Of course there is. A choice whether or not to lose you'.  
  
'No,' Felix retorts firmly. 'A choice is whether or not to lose _yourself_ '.  
  
He sighs; then, his voice grows softer, and even begins to quiver slightly.  
  
'Mother died shielding me from darkspawn. I was too weak, too scared, too... inept to keep her from harm, and now she is gone. And I am left to watch you slip away as well. Every day I recognize you less and less, Father... And I am afraid of what will become of you if you choose to have innocent blood on your hands'.  
  
Alexius freezes up, gripping the edge of the gauche little dog table with one hand. It takes a lot of time, each second crawling sluggishly by, before he can speak again. He finds himself too overwhelmed by the realization that his son, his dear, cherished Felix, is also feeling guilty over the death of his mother - a burden he was hoping he would carry alone. And then, there is that thought, stirring somewhere deep inside him, causing his stomach to clench - a thought that Felix is right. Of course he is. Maker, what is becoming of him?..  
  
And, of course, just at this moment, a nagging memory has to resurface to make the clenching sensation even stronger. An image of that girl, that little elven thief who keeps meddling with the Elder One's plan: of her face when she rushed over to catch a stumbling, fainting Felix at the Redcliffe tavern. Youthfully swift and agile, she was able to reach the younger Tevinter faster than his father, and as she gently wrapped her arms around him to support him, she turned her head, and her eyes briefly met Alexius'. That was the first time when he truly _saw_ her, almost tripping against a non-existent bump on the floor as if blinded by a bright flash.  
  
He had looked her over, yes, during their unfinished conversation - but that was a mere process of detached observation, akin to one a scholar engages in when coming across an interesting test subject (which must be ultimately destroyed to achieve the desired results). It was only during this fleeting moment, following Felix's fainting fit, that Alexius caught a glimpse of what sort of person the Herald is. Warm. Compassionate. Ready to extend a helping hand, even to someone she barely knows.  
  
Not that it matters. The girl may be as sainted as the prophet rumours seem to link her to - she is still a mistake. Her existence is still an obstacle in the Elder One's path. An obstacle that, he, Alexius, intends to remove. Because even though Felix did not like his answer to his question, it is the truth. He will do whatever it takes not to lose him.  
  
When, at long last, he musters enough strength to catch the words that have been eluding him, Alexius has to make a grasping motion with his free hand before he can speak. Only this time, he does not claw at the table: instead, he closes his fingers around thin air, as if trying to strangle that blasted elven apparition, to make her get out of his mind, with her open, trusting face and worried blue eyes.  
  
'She is nothing to me,' he says, his eyes darkening. 'You are... everything. I think the priorities here are obvious. And if there are consequences... Let them fall upon my head, and mine alone'.  
  
***  
  
'The Inquisition ought to gather more influence before we can make a move on Redcliffe,' Cassandra leans over the war map, tracing her gloved finger across the kingdom of Ferelden. 'I suggest trying to expand our reach beyond the Hinterlands; calls for the Herald's aid are coming in from far and wide... Yavanna, are you listening?'  
  
The Herald, who normally gives the Seeker a joyful grin whenever she refers to her by her first name, and not just as 'Lavellan', does not make any coherent response beyond a vague 'Mhm'.  
  
She is perfectly aware of how important war council meetings are; she realizes that, as the bearer of the Mark, she is expected to contribute to them - and gods know, she will readily be the first to kick herself for being so absent-minded... But she just cannot help it. Whenever she gets a chance to lay down her blades and to stop waving her hand around and banishing demons, her mind immediately turns to that meeting with the Magister.  
  
She cannot disagree with her companions, who waste no opportunity to remind her that the man is evil and cannot be trusted: after all, he did join some sort of... demon-worshipping cult, and disrupt the natural flow of time to trick the rebel mages into serving him. Not to mention his, so far unknown, sinister plans involving herself.  
  
But even though she knows that what they are saying is true, Yavanna still stubbornly casts all these voices of reason into the background, irresistibly drawn to the memory of that one single instance when that odd stranger in a ridiculously ornate robe was not being a shady Tevinter. When, crying out his son's name in a voice that cracked in desperation, he reached out to get him to his feet, and his eyes met those of the Herald, who had instinctively barged in to render aid, even if it was not exactly asked for. For a short while, before the elf switched her attention to the curious feeling in her hand (which turned out to be Felix stealthily pressing his warning note into her fingers), she and the Magister stared at each other in silence, giving her some opportunity to study his features, beyond what she had already seen as he sat across the table from her, cold and domineering, with his fingers steepled before his face and his lips parted in a smirk that did not bring a single spark of light into his weary brown eyes.  
  
By contrast, when she crouched on the floor, with her arms still closed reassuringly round the Magister's son, she was able to see all the pain that the older human had apparently been hiding from her when he tried to negotiate for 'his mages'. Now, he did not care about appearances any longer - now it was plain, from how his features twisted, that he was suffering. And suffering - at least in her book - deserves to be treated with understanding, not distrust.  
  
Yes, that particular onset of queasiness was a trick Felix's - but he really _is_ sick, and it breaks his father's heart. When Yavanna tried to probe Magister Alexius' former apprentice - that confident, refined young mage, Dorian, the one who helped her close a bizarre time Rift in the Chantry - with questions, he brushed her off, saying that the old man was just 'being a mother hen'. Perhaps there is some truth in that; Yavanna wouldn't know, as she has never been fussed over by a parent when she was sick. But even if he is worrying over nothing, that still has to mean that the Magister loves his son - right? Again, Yavanna wouldn't know, because no matter how hard she kept trying, she has still remained undeserving of her mother's love. But at least she herself definitely grows anxious and restless whenever her friends are not feeling their usual selves, whether it is from getting wounded in battle or merely catching a cold. Because she cares for them, and she wants nothing more than for them to get better. And it looks like the Magister is the same. He also has the ability to care for people - which means that he is not truly evil. He cannot be: Yavanna has seen it with her own eyes.  
  
'Hey there! Still straining your brains?'  
  
Now both the Seeker and the Herald get distracted - the former from the map, the latter from her visions - as a beardless but excessively hairy-chested dwarf saunters in, with a cheeky grin on his face.  
  
'Last time I checked, Varric, you were not a member of the war council,' Cassandra says dryly.  
  
'I came to rescue Blueberry from your steely clutches,' the dwarf replies, giving the Herald a friendly wave. 'You are overworking the poor kid: in addition to wading through demons and giving pep talks to the faithful, she also has to suffer through your boring meetings! Just give her a break!'  
  
'She does not even care enough to pay attention,' Cassandra glares disapprovingly at the Herald, who claps her hands over the tips of her ears to hide an embarrassed flush.  
  
'Daydreaming again, huh?' Varric squints his eyes and makes a slow, meaningful nod. 'I have been watching you, Blueberry: this giddy look hasn't left your face since we met the Tevinter fellow. Don't worry, I can tell you as an author: it's perfectly normal for an impressionable young heroine to develop a crush on the villain. Just remember to snap out of it when he tries to kill you'.  
  
Thankfully, the three advisors have not yet arrived, so Cassandra and the Herald herself are the only ones to hear the dwarf's teasing remark. The Seeker responds to it with what must be her loudest disgusted noise yet, while the poor elf flushes even fiercer and blurts out,  
  
'I do not have a crush on the Tevinter! D-don't be silly! I... I just think... I just think we could try reasoning with him before Leliana's people burst in and start slicing throats! Maybe he can be persuaded to... uh... abandon his evil ways and...'  
  
'Our goal is to vanquish the enemies of Thedas, not redeem them,' Cassandra snaps. 'And attempting to unravel time itself definitely makes the man an enemy of Thedas'.  
  
'And... And why not redeem him?' the Herald says, a little breathlessly, her face breaking into a bright, excited smile, as she suddenly remembers her recent climb up a snowy hill, to get a closer look at the Breach, together with the newly recruited Warden Blackwall - and the wonderful talk they had about their shared cause.  
  
'Why not? Everyone deserves a second chance! I mean... Wasn't your Andraste married to some... umm... evil guy?'  
  
'Andraste was the holy bride of the Maker,' Cassandra explains, looking as if it takes her a lot of effort not to start breathing fire out of her nostrils (gods, those humans sure are touchy when it comes to the Chant). 'She did have a mortal husband, but she married him _before_ he decided to betray her'.  
  
'Awww,' Yavanna's face falls. 'That's too bad. Would have been nice if he was evil first but then turned out to be not so evil, and Andraste saw that in him, and...'  
  
Cassandra gasps for air, utterly affronted. Varric gives her a pat on the back, as though helping her cough out a sharp bone she's accidentally swallowed.  
  
'See now, Seeker?' he says sagely. 'The kid's mind is wandering all over the place; if you don't want to hear any more heretical nonsense, let her rest'.  
  
'I...' Cassandra caves. 'I suppose Cullen, Leliana, Josephine and I _could_ discuss the technicalities of setting up camp amongst ourselves'.  
  
'Well then, that settles it!' Varric declares, shooing Yavanna away from the war table. 'Come on, Blueberry; after all your hard work, you deserve a couple of drinks! Let's find that little They-Got-No-Breeches rogue you recruited in Val Royeaux! I swore to her that you are not as "elfy" as you seem; you've gotta help me uphold my word of honour!'  
  
With a tentative smile, the Herald allows her dwarven friend to drag her outside, placing one foot mechanically in front of the other while he continues talking.  
  
'That... That sounds nice...' she mutters when she hears him pause - knowing in her heart that, even amid all the noise and laughter and bright firelight glimmer at the local tavern, she will keep seeing the Magister's face before her, and hearing an echo of his voice, and wondering, always wondering to herself, if it might be possible to befriend him.


End file.
